


Bright Morning

by the_pen_is_mightier



Series: waking up to you [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley speaks in keysmash, Fluff, M/M, They love each other, laughing, some very light angst, waking up fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 12:02:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21099143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_pen_is_mightier/pseuds/the_pen_is_mightier
Summary: They woke at the same moment. Seeing Aziraphale’s eyes made Crowley feel like a harpstring had just been plucked, hard, in his chest."G'morning," he tried to say, but it came out as “gnhgd.”





	Bright Morning

They woke at the same moment. Dawn had begun to poke clumsy fingers through Aziraphale’s blinds, and their eyes blinked open together when the sunlight fell upon their faces. Seeing Aziraphale’s eyes made Crowley feel like a harpstring had just been plucked, hard, in his chest. Like music was reverberating through him, quaking him to his core.

“G’morning,” he tried to say, but it came out as “gnhgd.” 

Aziraphale’s forehead creased slightly. Crowley knew that crease, knew it better than he knew his own name. “Wawhaset?” 

Crowley shook his head, trying to clear it enough to think. “I. Hng. Gmorng.” 

Aziraphale’s confused expression deepened. He seemed to be under the impression that it was his own mind failing to process Crowley’s words, and so he was giving Crowley the look most typically associated with the angel’s attempts to study a new language. 

But it was hard, fishing through his brain for the right way to make syllables. Everything was so dark and sleepy and so very, very comfortable. He didn’t want to exert himself. He wanted to stay right here, next to Aziraphale, and simply stare at him forever.

“Gorng,” Crowley tried valiantly. 

Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, then moved fractionally closer to Crowley, shifting the sheets slightly over them. His eyes still betrayed no understanding. 

“Gah.” With a concerted effort, Crowley willed his mind more to wakefulness. There was more in the world than just this room, more than just the two of them curled up close to each other. Things had happened, big, important things, things that had changed the very fabric of his reality and if he wanted to wake up he’d have to remember -

Aziraphale’s eyes. So close to his that their foreheads brushed. Suddenly Crowley was plunged violently back in time.

_Flames, air hot on his face, sweat on his neck, soot in his hair, burning, stinging tears in his eyes - heat tearing everything to pieces, Aziraphale gone, nowhere to be found, no aura to give Crowley any trace of his whereabouts, not sure who had taken him, Heaven or Hell, or if this fire was hellfire and he was really dead, knowing nothing but that his best friend was gone, gone, gone -_

But no. No. Here Aziraphale was in front of him, whole and uninjured and gentle with sleep. Crowley’s brow furrowed. How could that be? Was this a dream? 

_Kneeling there on the floor with nothing but the nonsensical horror that he’d let Aziraphale’s books burn, that he’d let harm come to his angel’s most treasured possessions -_

But his angel was here in bed with him. Concern starting to lace through the bewilderment. Concern - concern for _him_, for Crowley, as if he wasn’t the one who had died, as if Crowley’s only desire wasn’t to pull Aziraphale into his arms and shelter him and protect him from ever being hurt again. As if Crowley was the one who needed defending. 

What was going on?

Then Aziraphale moved again, and something close to speech came out of his mouth. “Hm - Crowy?”

And the sound of his voice brought back the other memories.

_Oh -_

_His appearance in the bar. “Good question, not certain,” as though this were any other conversation, as if he hadn’t just left Crowley’s life entirely, as if he hadn’t struck Crowley down with the overwhelming possibility of his utter absence, as if - as if he’d finally decided, now and forever, that they were on the same side -_

Crowley launched himself the few inches necessary across the mattress to hug Aziraphale. Aziraphale, startled, took a moment to hug him back. Crowley buried his face into the angel’s warm, soft shoulder, and breathed him in.

_Taking the bus back from Tadfield, and Crowley apologizing for the books, over and over again, saying the same words he’d thought in the bookshop - “I let the things most valuable to you be destroyed” - and seeing Aziraphale’s face melt into lines of love - was it possible? - and take Crowley’s hand, and say - and say -_

“Good morning,” Crowley managed at last. 

_“Darling, you’re more valuable to me than any book, and I’ve still got you.”_

And when awareness finally crashed back over him, Crowley began to laugh. As the light continued its ungainly assault through the curtains, and Aziraphale’s weight stayed pressed firmly against him, and the world was right - they were free of Heaven and Hell - the humans were going to survive, he couldn’t help himself. It was instinctual. An instinct demons tended to bury, but which had lingered from an earlier time. 

“Dear?” Aziraphale mumbled. “What’s funny?”

Crowley laughed harder. Quite the morning story for their first time waking up together, neither of them remembering how to speak for a full minute and a half. Well, it sounded like them, anyway. He’d thought of all sorts of slick and romantic lines he might pull for just this scenario, but in the depths of his soul he’d always known it was more likely to be a disaster than anything else.

“Can’t believe it,” he wheezed at last. “This. Can’t believe it.”

And Aziraphale began laughing too, his laugh deeper than Crowley’s, a rumble like a lion’s, not the adorable giggle that Crowley knew so well but something new, something stronger. Something that shook his whole body. Crowley snuggled closer to Aziraphale, wanting to absorb that laughter, wanting to feel it bright in his blood.

“I love you,” Crowley said, his voice still weak with mirth, but certain. 

Aziraphale’s eyes shone when he pulled away to look at Crowley. “Oh, I love you, darling.” 

He wasn’t dead. Neither of them was dead. Neither of them was going to die, they’d made it out, they’d reached their happy ending after six thousand years and they’d done it _together_, and they could wake up like this for the rest of time if they wanted. Crowley could wake up like this. To the light of his everlasting life. 

They laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> Like my content? Find me on tumblr @[whatawriterwields](https://whatawriterwields.tumblr.com)!


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